


Life Stories

by jdjunkie



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Gen, five things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-04
Updated: 2012-05-04
Packaged: 2017-11-04 19:53:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/397592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdjunkie/pseuds/jdjunkie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was alive. With Daniel Jackson, that was a victory in itself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Life Stories

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the latest challenge at phoenix_gate on DW. 
> 
> Prompt: Janet Fraiser: Five times she saved the life of a member of SG-1.

1 Teal’c had been hit by a staff blast in his symbiote pouch. Janet was made aware of this fact loudly and in triplicate by the other members of the SG-1 (two of whom had suffered minor injuries in the unscheduled run-in with Heru’ur’s Jaffa) as they barreled into her infirmary alongside the gurney.

Teal’c’s wound was ugly, nearly as ugly as O’Neill’s response when she told him to “get your own wound treated, Colonel, and give me room to work.”

Warner was at her side as they carefully extracted the symbiote, and worked to fix the internal injuries as best they could. The symbiote, which miraculously didn’t seem badly damaged -- and Janet silently thanked gods false or otherwise for that -- would do the rest. It took five hours of painstaking, difficult surgery to bring Teal’c back from the brink. She was breaking barriers, pushing medical frontiers all the way but none of that registered; all that mattered was that Teal’c survived this.

She checked his vitals one more time, laid a comforting hand on his arm, and reassured herself that all was going as well as could be hoped.

It was only when she’d finally managed to shoo SG-1 out of her infirmary that Janet realized that in saving Teal’c _and_ his symbiote, she’d actually saved two members of SG-1. And that made her smile, even as she stifled a yawn and dreamed of a long, glorious bubble bath that would have to wait until she was absolutely sure both patients were out of the woods.

But that was okay; that was what she did.

 

2 She’d never seen Sam looking so pale. Her face matched the white cotton of the regulation sheets all too perfectly.  But she was alive, and right now, that was all Janet cared about, because it could easily have been so different.

Friendly fire. That was the phrase, and Janet had always thought it was a massive misnomer. There was nothing friendly about being hit by a stray bullet from a gun fired by someone on your side.

The Colonel was angrier than she had ever seen him. Daniel had pretty much shut down on them all. Teal’c stood sentinel at the foot of Sam’s bed, immovable.

The young recruit who’d made the split-second mistake in the off-world fire fight was throwing up in an infirmary bathroom. Janet had placed the warm blanket around his shaking shoulders herself. He was aged 22; in his shock and fear he looked 16. He’d gazed at her intently, as if seeking forgiveness. It wasn’t hers to give, but she had given him what comfort and care she could. He was every bit as much a victim here.

Janet adjusted Sam’s drip, her eyes flicking between the monitors, assessing, calculating, adding up the ticks in the positive column in her head. Sam was going to make it.

She looked up at Teal’c and gave him a small, encouraging smile. The muscles in his strong, implacable face seemed to relax infinitesimally. He inclined his head, just a fraction.

Janet smiled on the inside.

 

3  “Ow.”

O’Neill’s  voice echoed through her infirmary and into her office.

“Where exactly did you learn your bedside manner? The local butcher’s shop?”

Okay. That did it. Janet pursed her lips and made a beeline for O’Neill’s bedside.

“Colonel, you will keep a civil tongue in your head when addressing my staff.” Janet waved away the young nurse who looked on the verge of tears.

O’Neill had the grace to look vaguely chagrined. “It hurt,” he said, voice edging towards the whiny.

“Nurse Farrell was taking a blood sample, Colonel, not performing open heart surgery without an anaesthetic.”

Janet snapped on some gloves and prepared the syringe.

“You’re scary,” O’Neill muttered watching Janet’s every move.

“Yes I am,” Janet said, smugly, taking the sample with consummate professionalism. “Now, behave, or I won’t let Daniel sneak in that personal computer game thingy of yours.”

“How’d you know he planned to do that?”

“I know everything, Colonel. It’s part of what makes me scary.” Janet marked up the sample phial and handed it off to a passing nurse. “Rest,” she ordered.

Janet had turned away when she heard a soft, “Thanks, Doc.”

It had been another close call. She didn’t need his thanks, but the words warmed her anyway.

 

4 “Hey,” she said, quietly.

Blue eyes blinked up at her twice, trying hard to focus.  “Hey,” Daniel said, voice dry. Slowly, he licked cracked lips.

“Do you know where you are?”

He swallowed, his gaze roving past her face before finding her again. “Tell me I didn’t ...”

“I’m afraid you did. Again.”

“It’s getting old.” The words were slurred. He was on the verge of lapsing into unconsciousness again.

It was getting old.  Colonel O’Neill had said exactly that as he sat hunched and uncomfortable in a plastic chair by Daniel’s bedside all through the long, tense night when they weren’t sure Daniel was going to make it. Being ribboned by a pissy Goa’uld was the torture method of choice this time. Daniel needed to learn to shut the hell up. Or so Janet had been told by his CO, whose shaky voice and shaking hands had told her all she needed to know about how bad it had been.

“Jack, Sam ... Teal’c,” Daniel said, urgently, just as Janet thought he’d drifted off.

“They’re fine. They’re sleeping, and you should be, too.”

Daniel left out a soft, relieved sigh.  As he closed his eyes, Janet saw the fingers of his right hand scrabble against the bedcover.  She sat down in the chair recently vacated by the Colonel and reached for Daniel’s hand. It was warm. He was alive. With Daniel Jackson, that was a victory in itself. She squeezed his hand and settled in to watch him for a while. Who needed sleep anyway?

 

5 “I think you have a job like no other,” Emmett Bregman said, just a hint of flirtation in his voice.

Actually, there was no “hint” about it. The man was smitten. Janet hugged the thought to herself.

“Not really. I’m just a doctor like any other. The fact that the wounds I treat are sometimes suffered off-world makes no difference.  The care and treatment are exactly the same.”

 It had been a long time since she’d enjoyed the simple pleasure of chatting to a man who didn’t wear regulation green and speak in the language and clipped tones of the military. She liked him. He was smart and erudite and funny.

“I think you’re being too modest, Dr. Fraiser.”

“Janet,” she corrected, scooping up the last of the fruit salad from her dish.

“Emmett,” he said, pleased, taking a drink of coffee from his mug.  A surprised look crossed his face as he swallowed. “Is the coffee always this good at the SGC?”

“No, it certainly is not. Senator Kinsey’s here. We go back to the gloop tomorrow.”

Bregman laughed. Definitely smitten.

“You must have seen some amazing things in your time here,” he said. Janet knew she should be careful. The man was a journalist. He knew a thousand ways to ask seemingly innocuous questions. But he was also genuinely interested and there was something rare and wonderful about that.

“I have the best job in the world,” she said.

A peal of laughter came from a corner table. SG-1 was grabbing a bite to eat, the four members talking animatedly.

Bregman nodded in their direction. “How many times have you saved their lives?” he asked.

Janet looked across at them. O’Neill was holding out his hands wide, as if measuring the length of something. A fish perhaps. Sam was grinning, while Daniel shook his head and Teal’c watched it all with quiet amusement.

Janet wiped her mouth with her napkin and rose from the table.

“I don’t keep count, Emmett. I just do my job. And you can quote me on that.”

ends


End file.
